


Lost and Found

by strikeyourcolors



Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, Batman Beyond, Batman Beyond 2.0 (Comics)
Genre: Batfamily Feels, Dick Grayson is bitter, Emotional Baggage, Family Dynamics, Father-Son Relationship, Gen, Jason Todd is protective, Old Age, Old Man Bruce Wayne, Other, Possible Character Death, Sibling Bonding, Terminal Illnesses, Tim Drake is there, past Bruce Wayne/Barbara Gordon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-29
Updated: 2017-09-29
Packaged: 2019-01-06 16:39:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,372
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12214692
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/strikeyourcolors/pseuds/strikeyourcolors
Summary: Bruce is dying. Slowly, painfully. Not going out in a blaze of glory and defiance for a greater purpose. He's caving under the weight of his own age, under the damage he's done to his heart through the years. Terry can't be by his side constantly to do damage control. More than that, he can't watch it happen with no reprieve. But there's no one else. ~Terry needs help keeping vigil by an ill Bruce's bedside. But the old man had kids once, didn't he? Are the bridges he burned unable to be rebuilt? As he observes, Terry definitely starts to wonder how this family used to be.





	Lost and Found

**Author's Note:**

> This is based on a hybrid of Batman Beyond as an animated series and as a comic series (all versions) with more emphasis on the animated universe. Obviously I wanted to add Damian in (who oddly ended up current canon compliant) and Jason, as well as alter a few things to suit my needs. 
> 
> This story was the result of wanting to explore how the relationships between Bruce and the others deteriorated, as well as how I would imagine they'd treat each other years later. Spoiler: It's not great but it could be far worse. The best way I could find to tell it was from an outsider's perspective...and who is more of an outsider at that point than Terry?

He'd thought it was pneumonia. A result of a chest cold that Bruce caught at some Wayne Enterprises function he hadn't enjoyed and too many nights up late helping Batman chase Spellbinder. Bruce would get antibiotics, and he would rest for just enough time to be functional, and things would be back to normal. No harm, Terry thought. Another illness that Bruce would bounce back from. 

It was pneumonia. But it came with a side of congestive heart failure. With Bruce in a hospital he really didn't want to be in, having fluid drained from around his heart and having a mask for a breathing treatment plastered over his face. They could clone a new heart. They could artificially inflate his lungs. "He is, however, a man of advanced age," The doctor told Terry when at last papers were presented to their satisfaction that Bruce Wayne's personal assistant did have some control over his healthcare. "I would not count on his survival, Mr. McGinnis." 

Bruce is too out of it to advise him. Bruce has a living will, of course, but it doesn't cover situations like this. He knows Bruce wants to be allowed to die as comfortably as possible and without artificial means and so, after a week's stay in the hospital, Terry arranges for him to be taken home with the best nursing care his money can buy. 

It works well. Terry leaves him in capable hands. Terry trusts someone will be there when Bruce wakes and struggles to breathe, crushed by the amount of fluid in his chest. He doesn't have to sit a constant vigil by Bruce's side, listening to those weak and rattling breaths. He can be Batman. He can continue the legacy. He can see, a little, what life might be like without the original guiding him. 

Until the morning he arrives 'back' to Wayne Manor and the nurse shakes her head fondly as she rises. "He's speaking," She says with a shrug. "Nonsense things. About clowns and Batman." Her smile is gentle as she pats Terry's shoulder and he wonders how stricken he must look for her to offer comfort. "The mind can wander in the later years. He doesn't know what he's saying but I don't think he's suffering." 

Terry knows Bruce is suffering. And he knows his mind isn't wandering. When the nurse is cleared out, Bruce peers at him with rheumy, serious eyes. There's no recognition there, really, but Terry moves the oxygen mask away from his face. He's asked about getting a tent or something, has been informed that Bruce's oxygen saturation levels are far too low for that. He's dying, they remind him. They're trying to keep him comfortable. "Jokerz," Bruce pants. "Spellbinder. Together." Which is all the confirmation Terry needs. He reassures Bruce he'll check it out, and he tells him about how he's spent his night before a day nurse arrives. "Batman," Bruce pants out as Terry turns to leave. "Needs a Batman." 

Terry doesn't have to fake the exhaustion that comes over him for the nurse. He's glad of that because these are good people who take care of Bruce and because he was never as good at deception as the old man. Lies, maybe. "He's been like that all night," Terry offers the new nurse. "Must be having some strange dreams."

~*~*~

It becomes clear, somewhere during his day or trying to sort through Get Well gifts and cards, that the nurses can't stay. Bruce isn't coherent enough to keep his secrets and how long will it be before he mentions a way to get into the Cave? Before he makes a confession that doesn't sound like the babbling of a senile old man? 

Bruce is dying. Slowly, painfully. Not going out in a blaze of glory and defiance for a greater purpose. He's caving under the weight of his own age, under the damage he's done to his heart through the years. Terry can't be by his side constantly to do damage control. More than that, he can't watch it happen with no reprieve. But there's no one else. Bruce doesn't have family. He has only a few friends. 

"I'm glad I have the two of you," Terry's mother always teases. "Who else is going to take care of me when I'm old?" And Matt will make a face at her because he doesn't know the realities of it the way Terry does. 

Bruce has children. Had children. Terry knows it, knows pieces of why they are no longer here. He sees evidence of them in long-abandoned rooms of the Manor. He's worn it after a particularly rough night with no extra clothes in the Cave, when Bruce had emerged with near-ancient rags that were decades out of style and claimed they would fit him better. They did. 

The Commissioner is his first call. She's not particularly happy to hear from him, but he feels like she never his. He can't even blame her when usually he's asking her uncomfortable questions or requesting that she pick up some apprehended thug like the police are more Batman's clean up crew than their own entity. 

"What is it, McGinnis?" She asks as her face appears on screen. Sitting at her desk in headquarters, of course. But any speech he's rehearsed flies right out of her head seeing her, hearing her tone. 

"I need help," He admits. "Personal help. It's Bruce." And Commissioner Gordon melts away into Barbara. Her face is softer, but her jaw is set. Bruce has obviously really done some damage to her in her life. He's hurt her. But she still cares. She has to care. "He's sick," Terry adds and tries not to let the weight of it all come crashing down on him. "Dying, actually."

She stares at him. "What?"

"It's his heart," Terry replies and swallows hard. He tries to keep his tone light, flippant even. "Doc says it shouldn't be long. About a week. But he's talking to the nurses. Telling them things...things he probably shouldn't." And he trusts she'll get the general idea of what he's trying to say, because he's not quite sure how secure her office is even if she's definitely no amateur at keeping secrets. "I can't be with him every day. The nurses so far think he's lost his mind."

"But they won't if he gets into specifics," Barbara reasons out. She really is as smart as Bruce has claimed. She falls silent once more after that. 

"I know he did things that he's not proud of," Terry begins, trying to fall back on that rehearsed speech. "I know he hurt people. But he's alone and he's old and he's dying and he needs people to sit with him. _I_ need people to sit with him to continue his mission."

He can see her teeth clench a moment. "He's alone because he wanted to be," Barbara replies coldly, but there's a kind of resentment and emotion in her eyes that reminds him this isn't exactly a new fight. "He chased away everyone who loved him. This is what he reaps." 

It's his turn to be silent. He's become so worn out over the past few weeks that he's not sure how he can keep up. Classes are out, at the least, but he's amazed at how many things Bruce handled for himself that now fall on Terry's shoulders. _Terry_ needs a personal assistant now. "I thought you'd want to know," He says at last. "Protecting your secrets aside. I thought his kids would want to know what's going to happen." 

"I had a father, and it wasn't him," Barbara replies as she shakes her head. Her fingers go up to her short hair and she tugs a strand of it. "A week, you said?"

It shouldn't make him hopeful. Because it's only a week. A week that Bruce Wayne lingers on this planet. A week of him suffering. A week of wondering when he'll take his last breath. A week of spilling secrets he's spent a lifetime protecting. "Yeah. He's not doing great." 

She frowns. "I'll make some calls." And the camera is off before he can acknowledge that or thank her or much of anything. He's too drained to care. He goes to find some breakfast before he gets to work. 

But he can't help wandering the halls. It's not something he indulges in often; Bruce hates it when he does it. He feels like maybe he shouldn't, out of respect for that, but maybe he should because he won't have the heart to do so in a week. 

~*~*~

It's Dick Grayon that shows up at the door that evening. Terry is stuck staring at him for a long moment. "Didn't want to use the family entrance," Dick informs him and sounds like he could be younger than Terry instead of at least twice as old. "Since I'm not family."

He knows the story. He knows what happened between Dick and Bruce, or at least some of it. "You're here," is all he can think to respond with. 

"Yeah," Dick admits. "I thought it might be some kind of trick but Barb doesn't lie about this sort of thing." He peers up the stairs like someone might magically appear. "It's really that bad?"

"He's suffocating to death," Terry answers bluntly. "They have him on some medication to help but it also makes him loopy. He doesn't know who is in the room with him. He's been talking a lot about Batman. About the old days." More than he ever has before. Terry doesn't want to lay a guilt trip on anyone, because he knows a fair bit about being a shitty kid, but he knows beyond a doubt that Bruce genuinely loved his first son. "Thought if someone could sit with him and just call the nurse in if she's needed that it might be easier." 

He shows him to Bruce's room. Not that Dick needs the guidance. He avoids looking around, like the furniture might burn him. "Not a lot changes in this place, huh?"

Terry shrugs. "I don't think he uses most of this place any more." Enough to get by. Perhaps fewer than a quarter of the rooms actually see anyone set foot in them any longer. 

Bruce is coughing when they arrive. Terry watches from the door as the nurse tries to roll him onto his side and he struggles with her. "You know how to reach me," Terry tells Dick and slides a communicator link into his hand. 

"Where are you going?" Dick asks and for a moment, just a moment, Terry can see the orphaned child he was. He can imagine him coming to Wayne Manor with that lost, terrified look in his eyes. That feeling that the large stone walls were closing in. 

"The usual," Terry answers, aware of the nurse lingering not far enough away. Bruce's coughing is muffling most of his words but he's learned a fair bit of paranoia from the old man. He makes eye contact with Bruce. "I'll take care of things." 

But then Bruce's eyes are firmly on Dick. Terry feels like an outsider. 

Patrol is rough and brutal. He misses the voice in his ear. He misses having someone to talk to. He's been trying so hard not to think about what he's losing that he's starting to struggle. He also has too much time to think about fathers and sons. Enough time that he's kind of glad when he gets punched in the face. It gives him something to vent his rage on. 

Barbara Gordon is there when he gets back, and gets unsuited, because of course she is. She has a batarang in her hand. One of the old models, Terry notices as it flies across the room and back to her. 

"It was under his pillow," She explains blandly. "Dick had to go for a little while. He might be back." 

"Might?" Terry can't help but be a little bitter. He knows it's exhausting to sit with Bruce but he does it and then goes out on patrol. Or then goes about his day. Or then does something else. Of course he doesn't have a several decade spanning feud. 

"Barbara," Bruce croaks out. He's been upgraded to the cannula in his nose, probably to hurry along his death from lack of oxygen. Terry had been warned to expect a rapid decline when they switched out the mask but so far it hadn't happened. "Dick was _here_ ," Bruce says when the former Batgirl has leaned in closer to his bedside. "He was...he was here." And he seems so elated. So desperate to believe. Terry hates hearing that unsureness in that weak of a tone. From Bruce Wayne. 

Her fingers go to comb through the thinning hair at the crown of Bruce's head. Terry's not sure why he's surprised she's so tender with him. "You didn't dream it," She reassures Bruce. "He was here. I saw him on his way out. He said he needed some air." 

"Always needed some air," Bruce grumbles.  "He could never keep his feet on the ground." 

There's a twitch to the corner of Barbara's lips. "Yeah," She agrees. "I think you and I had more than a little to do with that. But he still came to see you. And he's still speaking to me." 

Terry knows the story. He knows that once Batman and Batgirl had been in a relationship, even if it feels strange to ever think that about Bruce Wayne and Barbara Gordon. He knows that there had been a baby that wasn't Dick Grayson's, that Bruce had told him everything, that Barbara had a miscarriage and the relationship had largely dissolved between the three of them. Nightwing losing an eye and almost the use of his legs had been icing on the cake of relationship fractures and bad decisions. It's hard for it to be a cautionary tale when he only knows it through pieces he's gleaned, but it still feels that way.

"Have to stop it," Bruce whispers before a breath catches in his throat. He starts to cough, and between the two of them they manage to get him over on his side with his arms up. "The bomb in the square. The party." The wheezing goes on. Long enough that Terry is wondering where the nurse is. "The Cave...sonic frequency..."

The commissioner's hand is rubbing circles on Bruce's back, trying to pat his lungs back into an easier breathing rhythm. "I see why he can't be left alone or without one of us," Barbara agrees finally. "The right clues and the right nurse..."

"And his cover's blown," Terry answers grimly. "Mine. Yours. Not sure Nightwing cares but Drake might." The unspoken question lies heavily between them. Terry doesn't give voice to it and Barbara provides no answers. 

"Does he have a DNR?" She says instead. "A living will? I can't imagine him ever wanting-"

"No," Terry cuts her off. "He doesn't want that. No life saving measures at all. Just comfort care." That's the term they'd used. The term the attorney used while Terry sat there beside  Bruce in a too-warm suit that made him itch all over. Terry had mocked it when they got to the car and now the words feel positively macabre.

"Quiet, Jason," Bruce murmurs. "You're giving me...a headache."

"He really has lost it," Terry mutters, and doesn't see the way Barbara's body goes tight. 

~*~*~

The mask is back on Bruce's face. Not the black one, of course. Not the one he's spent his life wearing. The clear one, steadily pumping oxygen and forcing him to breathe it. Barbara sits the vigil with him. Terry is relieved by that; Bruce hasn't been breathing well. There's a noise in his chest that Terry can only assume is a death rattle. 

He might be a coward, but he doesn't want to be alone when Bruce dies. He feels somehow unworthy being in the room at all, let alone being the only one to see him take his last breaths. 

Sometimes Barbara steps into the hallway to take a call. Sometimes she leans forward to touch Bruce's forehead or hold his hand. It's a struggle, but ultimately she shows so much compassion that he can't help but ask. "Still a thing between you guys? No love lost?"

She shakes her head. "All the time lost, McGinnis. And you don't stop loving someone because of how they wronged you. Not like this. Not in this family." She sighs, pausing to check her phone messages. "You might act like you do, but you really can't let go when someone meant that much to you. When someone was the shield between your life and your death." 

He doesn't have time to evaluate that in any profound way before she stands. "I'll be back." And it's mere minutes before she is exactly that. With company. Terry stands up to shake Tim Drake's hand, but there's kind of an absence to the man. A disconnect. 

"Sorry it took me so long. I was trying to find them," Tim says, mostly to Barbara as he takes a seat nearby. "Hey, Old Man. Your birds are hard to track down. You trained them too well." It's in that fake conversational tone that Terry has long since abandoned. Bruce groans, but otherwise makes no response. Terry can see Tim's Adams apple bob as he swallows heavily. It's hard to see. He gets it. He'd nearly had a breakdown the first time.

"No luck, then?" Barbara questions and Tim seems to slump even further. He's not a large man. Even after he'd beaten him, Terry's never seen him look so defeated. 

"Dami won't take my calls. He shuts off my transmissions without a response." His mouth sets into a grim line. "Little bastard. I know he's getting them." 

Terry stands up with an intent to take his leave. This feels personal. But he brushes his fingers lightly against Bruce's wrist. It might be the last time he sees him alive and he's painfully aware of that. He'd spent weeks, probably, trying to remember the last time he'd seen his dad. The last thing he'd said to him. 

"He's been talking about Jason," Barbara says so quietly that Terry can barely hear her. He sees her fingers go to Tim's hand, and Tim grips onto her like she's a lifeline. Like she's a sister. 

"Maybe tonight," Tim offers exhaustedly. "I've done all I can. Can't argue though. I almost didn't come myself. Can't even hate Damian as much as I want to. You don't want to see something like this. Don't want to accept it." 

"We'll leave a window open," Barbara replies and Terry doesn't have any idea what that means either. "I'm not sure what he's holding on for."

"Dick says he's an old hard ass that's too stubborn to die." Tim seems fond of that descriptor. It's not really far off, Terry decides. 

"Hey McGinnis," Barbara calls out when he's nearing the door. She softens a bit. "Terry. I'll take early morning, okay? After patrol just go get some rest. I'll let you know if anything changes...if you'd like." 

He's being shoved out a little. That feels...like a relief and an insult all at once. It's a lot to have on his shoulders but he's becoming more and more aware that something was different with him. Bruce cared for him. He cared for Bruce. They had a great friendship, with a few bumps. Terry's trying to remember that these are essentially Bruce's _kids_. They are his family. But more than that he remembers how alone Bruce is in the world. He may have done it to himself but, like Barbara said, it hadn't meant the relationship between them simply died. He has a lot of questions for Bruce that are going to go unanswered. 

~*~*~

He tries to catch a few winks after patrol. The city seems in a stasis now, like it too is waiting for the ending of its greatest protector. But Terry's dreams are filled with the rattle of liquid in an old man's chest, the hum of the machinery around him, and the mantle of a Bat resting heavily on his shoulders. 

It's what drives him from the cave up to Bruce's room to check on him. Barbara would have told him if anything had changed. She _promised_. Still, he's pulled there with a kind of magnetism and he's almost furious when he finds Bruce seemingly alone in the room. Heart still beating. Breathing even easier. 

"Dumb fucks. You know he doesn't do well on that narcotic. Need to swap him over at least once every twelve hours to get the best of both-" The voice stops. Terry stares at the shadowed figure, illuminated only by the bedside lamp. He'd been kneeling on the opposite side of Bruce. He's handsome. Younger than Grayson but still old enough, by Terry's estimation. He reminds Terry of the images of a younger Bruce; he's broad and strong and he carries a lot of muscle. "You're pretty'n all but you're no Barbie," He tells Terry with a little smirk. Is his face wet? His eyes are red. "You're the new one, right? The new Bat." 

Terry wants to deny it all. It's hard wired in him to do that. "Yeah," He says instead with a shrug. He gets the feeling this decidedly is not a nurse. "What's it to you?"

A shrug from those massive shoulders is his first reply. The man goes back to adjusting Bruce in bed, checking IV lines and monitors with a kind of skill that comes from practice. Maybe he is a nurse? A very burly, older nurse with questionable fashion sense who comes to work in a pair of jeans and a leather jacket. "You look a little more on Robin's level, kid. I've seen you from a distance but never up close without the mask before." 

It's unnerving. Terry doesn't like that, and he doesn't like a stranger near Bruce. He clenches his fist. "And you are?"

"Not important," The man replies. "That's what Bruce here will tell you, anyway. A little black mark beside Batman's name. Someone he never got to know so he could continue to flagellate himself on the altar of a kid who didn't grow up, in his mind." 

"Are you still on about that?" Tim asks from behind him, making Terry jump. Some Batman he's turning out to be. "We gave you some privacy, Jason."

"I was just about to put the pillow over his face," The stranger, Jason, says with a shrug. Terry's troubled but not murderous; he saw the gentle way he was taking care of Bruce. "He's not going to die tonight. Probably not tomorrow night. I'd say he's a tough son of a bitch but I think he just wants to die in a gunfight or an explosion or something." He smiles. "Have to imitate the best." 

Tim rolls his eyes. It's an oddly childish gesture and he stands to the side to let Barbara in the room. Jason looks at her and it's a little strange. "Well well," He drawls. "The gang's almost all here. Kid the stand in for Dickiebird?"

Barbara doesn't look amused. She looks exhausted. "He'll be back. He's processing." 

Jason turns serious. "No word from the squirt?"

Barbara tilts her head. "That's not really any of your concern, is it?" She asks mildly. "You say what needs to be said then, Jason?"

"All that you can say," Tim amends. "I think the old man already knows." 

"Yep. All those deathbed confessions of love tied into a neat little bow," Jason replies. "Why, you wanna get in another bed and let me whisper all those sweet nothings to you?"

"If you're done," Barbara answers. "Then get out." 

Jason sighs. "All this," He says dramatically. "Because I asked about his son. You know the one. The real son. The _blood_ son." 

"Woah," Terry begins. "What?"

"Get out!" Barbara snaps again. 

Jason starts toward the window after tucking the blanket back around Bruce. "Left some notes for the nurse to save his life, in case you care," He replies. "And I'm just saying, look who's here and look who's missing. Blood Son and Golden Boy." 

Tim seems oddly used to this. Resigned to it. He goes to check out the notes Jason wrote and stays clear of the argument, so Terry follows that line. Now is not the time to ask about ancient history. Not with tempers this high. And Bruce said he was stupid; he's learned. He'll ask his questions when there's time. 

"He should be here," Jason says as he climbs out the window. They don't offer to let him use the door. "If his dad really is going to die. He should be here." 

Barbara sags into a chair a minute after he's gone. Tim flips through the notes like nothing at all unusual has happened. “He actually does have some promising ideas. New drug therapy. Total oxygen immersion instead of like this.” 

The Commissioner groans, and hides her face in her hands. 

~*~*~

Bruce pulls through. The changes they make, in fact, seem to have him improving by leaps and bounds. Two days after Bruce spends his first night in an oxygen tent instead of having it forcibly pumped into his lungs, a package is delivered on the doorstep. Except, it doesn't come from any mail carrier Terry knows, or ever wants to know. Mostly because the large crate contains a bound and gagged man. His green eyes are bright and promise wrath. His face looks like Bruce's. There's not much question of who he is. 

Terry simply stands there frowning until Tim Drake comes behind him and smirks. It's mischievous, full of a kind of spark that Terry has never managed to see in person from the man. “I see Jason can still humble you a little,” Tim says. 

Damian, because who else could it be, shrieks inarticulately. Terry decides whatever Bruce is paying him to deal with this mess, he's going to have to double it.

**Author's Note:**

> I originally typoed the title as "Lost and Fond" and I think that maybe was a more apt description. 
> 
> Comments? Reviews? Questions? I love them. Leave them here and if there's anything you want to see in the future, let me know! My tumblr is [here!](https://strikeyourcolors.tumblr.com/)


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